The Ice Maiden by Edna Buchanan Page A

rundown high-crime neighborhood sliced in two by the expressway.
    Neither Nazario, on the telephone, nor Stone, at a computer terminal, acknowledged me or my no-nonsense escort as we exited the elevator. The usual banter, good humor, and camaraderie that characterizes most detective bureaus was absent here.
    â€œHow is the lieutenant today?” I asked the tiny middle-aged secretary. “In a good mood?”
    She rolled her eyes, then tapped gingerly on Riley’s door, standing aside, out of the line of fire, the same technique cops use when knocking on the front doors of deranged homicide suspects holed up with shotguns. I winked at her and breezed into the lion’s den.
    â€œMontero!” Riley checked her watch, startled by my prompt arrival. I smiled instinctively as our eyes connected. All cops’ lives are tough, but they’re far tougher for the women. I respect those who succeed at it.
    She cocked her head and motioned me to a chair without returning my smile. “Sit,” she ordered.
    Her straw-colored hair was shoulder length, with a slight natural wave. Tanned, fit, and sleek as a Thoroughbred, she didn’t have an extra ounce of weight on her athletic frame. Her cream-color blouse was crisp and sharply tailored, and she wore her gun at the waist of her fitted beige slacks. A matching jacket hung from the back of her chair.
    â€œSo,” she said. “You’re planning a story about us.”
    â€œFor the Sunday magazine.”
    â€œAnd to what do we owe this honor?” She lifted her eyebrows and regarded me the way she would a hostile suspect. “You won’t find any scandal in my unit.”
    â€œI don’t expect to,” I said. “The editor agrees that the Cold Case Squad’s success is a good story.”
    â€œI didn’t know you covered good news.”
    â€œEvery chance I get,” I said deliberately. “Too bad there’s so little around here.”
    â€œTouché.” Her smile was ironic. “Given the current state of the department, you know the brass will buy anything that may improve our image. But you’ve written a lot of the stories that have made us look bad.”
    â€œIt was news, Lieutenant. Not designed to make anybody look good or bad, just news. If something or somebody looked bad it’s because they were. I had nothing to do with it.”
    â€œThat’s debatable,” she said. “You and I have butted heads enough times that you know exactly where I stand. My job is closing cases, not selling newspapers. If it was up to me, we wouldn’t be here right now. But it’s not up to me. The chief wants to cooperate, so that’s what I’m doing, one hundred percent.”
    â€œGreat,” I said earnestly. “It’ll be a good read.”
    â€œI’ll settle for accurate,” she said, with an odd smile. “Since I’m the supervisor, I thought it strange that you didn’t come to me first.” She toyed with a metal paperweight in the shape of a hand grenade. “Why was I last to know?”
    Oh, shit, I thought, an ego thing. I hate it when women professionals act like men.
    â€œYou know how the department is,” I said, a hint of exasperation in my voice. “They insist that everything go through PIO first. I assumed they’d call you.”
    â€œThey did,” she said softly, “but not until after I heard it elsewhere.” She smiled slightly. “Kenny Mac—you know, Major McDonald—he happened to mention it.”
    Kenny Mac? Where did that alias come from? A pet name?
    â€œOh, right,” I said. “I ran into him outside PIO and told him that Diaz planned to bounce it off the chief.”
    â€œJust don’t screw around with my unit, Montero.” She leaned forward, eyes intense. “My guys don’t need any heat, any problems generated by the press. This isthe best team I’ve ever worked with.